An early departure from the North Cascades

Generally, when the blue dot deviates from the red line, it is because I took a wrong turn. This time it wasn’t a mistake. I was so far from the Pacific Northwest Trail that the blue dot on my phone screen was in a pixelated, low-resolution area of ​​the map, with blurry contour lines and no trail markings. My reason for deviating was, of course, defeat. As a result of the Parks Fire in 2022, several hundred trees had fallen on the PNT and its two closest alternatives. The next best route required a 28-mile detour south, avoiding 23 miles of redline.

For the first 12 miles, as it ran parallel to the Middle Fork Pasayten River, the ascent was gradual and the area lived up to its name: Pleasant Valley. After that, the trail crossed the river and quickly gained elevation. Higher up, the views were not just pleasant, but spectacular. I arrived at Slate Pass in the early afternoon, a stone’s throw from Harts Pass and the Pacific Crest Trail.

The PNT and PCT share the same route for 13 miles north of Holman Pass. I joined the PCT 12 miles south of the pass and hiked three miles that night before finding a suitable campsite. The last time I was on that section of the trail was five years ago and it felt good to be back.

Back to PNT

That night there was an incredible silence. So quiet, in fact, that I was awakened at five by the sound of a commercial airliner, six miles above me. My remaining nine miles of the PCT took about three and a half hours and I enjoyed every minute of the smooth, well-maintained trail. I also enjoyed playing “NOBO or Not” as soon as I saw someone. The 15 people I met looked like hikers, but only a handful stopped to chat. They were all on their way back to Harts Pass after arriving at the northern terminus of the PCT and it was fun to hear their experiences.

I arrived at Holman Pass just after ten, turned back to the red line and immediately noticed the rougher trail. My detour probably only saved me about two hours of walking, but I’m sure it prevented several minor injuries and enormous frustration. Overall: four stars; I would do it again.

The rest of the day was filled with a few more mountain passes. Go up to Sky Pilot Pass and down to Deception Pass, then up to Devils Pass. In the afternoon, a long east-west traverse presented me with a slowly changing perspective of the two peaks closest to the south, Crater Mountain and Jack Mountain. Near the end of the day, at the top of Devils Dome, I could also see all the way to the north. A mile later, down a short side trail, I camped near the Bear Skull Shelter. No bears, just me and a couple of urine-obsessed deer.

open throttle

Normally, on the last day of a stage I like to have a few kilometers in the bank. A short last day means more time in the city, but a long last day means potentially running out of time to hitchhike. The section he was about to complete hadn’t exactly been normal. At first it was long, the detour made it longer and the trail conditions made it difficult to put distance on the bank. The last morning, I left the camp and had to travel at least 40 kilometers.

At the end of the 5,000 foot descent to Ross Lake, I headed south along the coast. I didn’t stop to chat with any of the backpacking groups I came across. I didn’t even stop to filter the water. Whether I was thirsty or not, what worried me most was running out of natural light. Fortunately, other than a small climb by PNT standards, the trail was fairly level. At 3:30 p.m., Ross Lake Resort came into view on the opposite shore, just a quarter mile away. It seemed closer than it was. Walking along my side of the lake, crossing the dam, and returning along the other shore took 45 minutes.

My resupply box, mailed before I started on the trail, was waiting for me. I paid for it, bought two cans of soda, and connected to the resort’s Wi-Fi. I was hoping, but not expecting, good news.

Trail closed

The 2022 Brush Creek Fire burned more than six miles of the NTP in North Cascades National Park. The trail had been closed for almost three years, and if it wasn’t open when I arrived, I had two options.

1. Skip 50 miles of PNT. Take 121 miles from the Ross Dam trailhead to the Mount Baker Highway.
2. Skip 96 miles of PNT. Take 66 miles from the Ross Dam trailhead to Baker Lake Road.

The National Park Service website informed me that the trail was still closed, so I chose option two. I quickly packed my food, drank some water, and paid for the trip back across the lake. I’ve never spent five dollars more wisely. The 45-minute walk turned into a three-minute boat ride, and soon I was walking down the trail to Highway 20.

I didn’t have to wait too long for a problem to occur. The first car dropped me off in Rockport and after walking a mile with my thumb out, another car took me the rest of the way to Concrete. My thanks to Monty and Pat for picking up a disheveled stranger at such a late hour of the day.

The town of Concrete has two small hotels and no camping sites. The first hotel displayed a sign that said “No vacant rooms” and its office was closed. The other hotel was over a mile away and when I called, they were also full. In an unknown town, at dusk; It was disconcerting to find myself with nowhere to spend the night. The bar/restaurant across the street seemed like a good place to reflect on my situation.

Sleeping outdoors

During dinner, I came across a FarOut comment describing a possible camping option. I also discovered the “Skagit Transit” website and spent some time researching bus routes and schedules. In the end, after a discussion with the bartender and waitress, I made my decision. I walked a half mile to the Baker River Kayak Launch and found two potential campsites.

1. The parking area, near the water’s edge, had a level surface of fine dirt. It felt quite exposed and I didn’t like the idea of ​​being discovered during the night.
2. Rough terrain, more than 100 feet from the river, was just big enough for my tent. It had some trash left on it, but it was hidden among the trees, brush and brush.

Option two was preferable, despite its proximity to a pair of discarded underwear and jeans that I wouldn’t even touch with my trekking pole. I moved some pieces of trash out of the way, double-checked for anything sharp, stomped on some lumps, and set up my tent. There were no disturbances during the night.

Kayak launch on Baker River, early morning.

Last night’s restaurant opened at 7 a.m. and lived up to its name: “Hub.” It had been open for less than 20 minutes when I arrived, but all the old people in town seemed to be inside. After breakfast, I wandered down Main Street, bought snacks at the gas station, walked to the bus stop, and booked a hotel. Two hours later, I took the 70X bus to Sedro-Woolley.

From zero to Nero

He PNT AssociationThe office was not far away, so I paid a visit on the way to my hotel. (Hi Abs and Seher!) I stopped again a half mile later at Lorenzo’s and ate a mountain of Mexican food. Fortunately, I only had to walk another 100 meters to my hotel.

I took the bus back to Concrete the next morning and texted a local angel, Jay, to ask him to take me. (Jay is a temporary Concrete resident who I met at the PNTA office.) When he arrived, he made a recommendation. Instead of dropping me off where the PNT crosses Baker Lake Road, he suggested taking me another eight miles to the trailhead. I accepted without hesitation. Park Butte Lookout, less than a mile from the PNT, is available for overnight stays on a first-come, first-served basis. He had been considering spending the night there and Jay’s suggestion tipped the balance. A huge thank you to him.

A mile further down the trail, I got my first glimpse of Mount Baker at the crossing of a glacial stream. The mountain then played at its peak for two miles as it climbed through the forest and then the meadows. I took the side trail at the Park Butte junction and stopped for the day after less than four miles. The gazebo was in excellent condition, courtesy of Skagit Alpine Cluband I was the only person there.

There aren’t many opportunities to stop and smell the roses during a hike. I mostly spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the shade, looking out at the southern slope of Mount Baker. From time to time, I would walk around the overlook to admire the Twin Sisters to the west and the Cascades to the east.

Sleep well

About 10 people visited the viewpoint over the course of the afternoon and I was surprised there weren’t more. Only one person stayed to watch the sunset, and when he left, I made dinner. Stars began to appear as the sun’s remaining brightness dimmed, and the Milky Way was visible before the brightness faded completely. Finally, I realized that Vancouver and Seattle were blocking the western sky from turning black, so I walked to the other side of the shelter.

Within the silhouette of Mount Baker, a solitary light descended from the mountain. I watched his progress for some time before calling it a night. When I closed the door, the slight breeze and near silence were replaced by residual warmth and complete silence. Within seconds of lying down, I fell asleep.

Mount Baker, from Park Butte Lookout.